General Discussion

There once was a hall by the Potomac bend,
Where the music and drama would regularly blend.
But Trump said, “Renovate!”
As the stages lay in wait—
For the shows had all fled in the end.

On CNN Dana Bash said one night,
“There’s no season ahead to recite.
No ballets, no bands,
No comics, no hands—
Just silence where spotlights invite.”

“The ’26–’27’s not real,”
Said a source with a blunt sort of zeal.
“There’s nothing to tout,
‘Cause they all backed out—
There’s no playbill left to reveal.”

He crowned himself chair with a grin,
Kicked the old board right out on their skin.
With loyalists near,
They voted “aye” here—
And renamed it for Trump, Kennedy in.

But Democrats raised a quick hand:
“That name change won’t legally stand.
By Congress it’s set,
You can’t change it yet
Without law in the nation’s command.”

Michelle Price noted, intrigued,
That the closure felt oddly fatigued:
“New carpet and chairs
Don’t shut down affairs—
This shutdown seems strategy-leagued.”

He bragged, “I could fix it just fine!”
With upholstery, carpet, and twine.
Yet two years go dark,
‘Cause the talent won’t park—
When the cancel list’s longer than the line.

And the crowd from D.C.’s nearby ring,
From Maryland, Virginia’s swing,
Never voted his way,
Protested all day—
So the seats wouldn’t fill with anything.